Mexican Amends
by Denealle
Summary: The first reunion with Derek after Stiles went to college goes on not so well. The alpha is unforgivably late, and Stiles is more than pissed. However, Derek gets something unexpected to make amends.


**_Well, here is the sequel of my last fic, 'So Much as Revelation'. I hope it's better._**  
**_Enjoy~_**  
**_^_^_**

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'Where the hell are you, Derek?' Stiles raves into his phone, into the voice mail on the other side of the line.  
Stiles is alone, sauntering in some petit alley. But he is not supposed to be here, not supposed to be alone. He's supposed to be in some filthy hotel room and get fucked his brain out by Derek. Or maybe he's in some reverend restaurant, cylindrical marble pillars around him, synthetic welkin above his head, and a plate of convolution of some kind of unknown food in front of him. Still, it should only happen with Derek. But now he is all alone, shoulder-bumped by stubby pedestrians. And the point is that he has no idea where Derek is, who should've been meeting Stiles under the lovely eave of the Starbucks near his school.  
They have not seen each other for about a month. None of their great master plans ever cashed out. The beginning of Stiles' college life was nothing but turmoil. There was always too much to get adjusted to, too much to take care of, let alone a dumb Scott consuming most of his free time. Then when Stiles finally settled down, Derek was mired in some meaningless conflicts with some brainless omegas. Now, when they finally set up a consensual date for their first tryst of the century, Derek is late for two hours.  
After Stiles calibrates again with his phone that there is no message, no phone call, no nothing, he really feels the urge to loose his self-control. If spiritual burglary is accountable and written in law, Stiles would accuse Derek of larceny of his patience and senses. Stiles feels like he's a cockroach twirled in a bottle in an evil kid's hand.  
Then after Stiles mentally stabs Derek a thousand times, he suddenly realizes that something is abnormal behind his back, some grotesque music playing. Stiles turns back warily and finds out that there is a mariachi following him. First, Stiles thought that he was just being over-sensitive. Then after three turns, Stiles decides that he is not, and that he's done with these sombrero stalkers.  
'What the hell?' Stiles can't help but yell at them, 'why can't you just find somewhere else to buzz?' Stiles motions them to go away, but it seems that they have no intention to leave him alone.  
'Okay, I can call the cops if you want!' Stiles sways his phone in his hand as a threat, but the musicians show their gallant amply.  
'Alright!' Stiles nods hysterically and begins to dial.  
Aptly, the organist in the mariachi begins to step forward with his head down. Stiles stops to look at him and finds this flares guy looks pretty hot according to his well built figure. And curiously, he looks quite familiar to Stiles too. But Stiles can't see his face and he is getting real close, so there is not much room for him to guess.  
Stiles holds his breath and forgets to retreat even when the man has intruded his personal space. He doesn't realize the man has stopped playing and the instrument is gone. When the guy finally looks up and takes his hat off, Stiles goggles with the peril that his eyes might roll out.  
It is Derek, with his symbolic perfect smirk on his face. Stiles feels happiness is resurrected in his heart when he looks into Derek's gleaming eyes. Honestly, he was mad at Derek. But Stiles knows he forgave him the second he saw the alpha. However, Stiles has enough dignity that he doesn't want an accolade for being casual. So if Derek wants full forgiveness from his stubborn college boyfriend, well, he needs some excavation.  
So Stiles straightens his face, folds his arms, and glares at Derek. Derek blinks a few times and finally plops his shoulders. He stares at Stiles and sighs. Stiles raises his eyebrows as if saying 'have something to explain?' Then just before he can react, he is held tightly in Derek's arms.  
'I'm sorry,' Derek murmurs into his ear, 'just never thought forming a mini Mexican symphony could be so difficult.'  
Stiles can't help winding his arms around Derek's waist. As he leans close, Stiles feels all the indignation and frustration that preoccupied him earlier and now still linger in his mind are crumbled by Derek's ravishing smell and his soothing steady heartbeat.  
Stiles doesn't mean to keep dead silence and to not say anything to show his forgiveness. And he thought it is obvious that he has forgiven Derek. But Derek's breath just becomes shallow in Stiles' neck and his heart bumps more violently on Stiles' chest, his nerves in evidence. Stiles only sniggers.  
'Why bother?' Stiles pulls back and says, his hand finding Derek's easily on its own as he walks forward aimlessly. 'I don't need any damn orchestra,' he pauses and looks down at his feet, giving Derek an alongside look, and blushing when he finds Derek is staring at him back, 'I just, need you.'  
'Well, I was tripped by some bugs in Beacon Hills,' Derek says and shrugs like it is no big deal, which Stiles is sure isn't true. But his man is a capable yet too selfless supernatural asshole, so what else can he do but drop it? So Stiles tries to focus on what else Derek has to say. 'And when I arrived in the city, I was already late. So I thought maybe a little preparation would make amends. Couldn't help but notice your kinky interests in Mexican music on Facebook.' Derek finishes and smiles slyly at Stiles.  
Stiles is in shock. He never thought Derek would've paid that much attention to the social network to begin with. Then his scrupulousness seriously catches Stiles off guard. In his assumptions, Stiles assumes that he would be the one who always does the tricks and makes more exertions. And now he should really be ashamed of himself thinking that way in the first place. But Stiles is too busy being numb for his exultation inside.  
'So, forgive me?' Derek says, and tilts his head to Stiles, cocking one eyebrow as a symbol of careless questioning.  
Even though Derek makes himself sound cool and nonchalant, but the tentativeness stealing out of his tone and his hand squeezing Stiles' betray him. Stiles really doesn't know what he is going to do with him in the future if he keeps being this lethally innocuous which is definitely forbidden for a werewolf. Besides, the careful and innocent look in Derek's eyes just make Stiles want to jump him right now despite standing on a really crowded square. Stiles feels all his internals melt like the stuffing in a lava cake, all the happiness and sweetness overflowing. He really needs an official announcement from Mr. President that it is illegal for Derek Hale to be so ungodly adorable.  
However, an alpha is still an alpha. And Derek is about to growl. 'Of course,' Stiles says and pulls Derek into a sweet kiss, 'I'll always forgive you,' Stiles has to pause because Derek demands a more heated crush (or maybe crushes) of their lips, 'and you know how receptive I am for you.' Stiles adds breathily, resting his forehead upon Derek's. Derek laughs and lands a feathery kiss on the tip of Stiles' nose. 'Let's get out of here,' he whispers, end of the issue.  
Stiles glances around subconsciously and finds people smiling and whistling at them, that loyal mariachi included. He smiles to Derek and nods. Seriously, it is very mean and selfish to rub such a great romantic scene of our audiences. But like hell Stiles cares about these stupid strangers. And he already feels horny as Derek drags him away.

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**_Thank you for reading._**  
**_And please leave me some commends if you like._**


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